Heritage
by PeaceLoveTea
Summary: It was their experience, their life, their Narnia. And I was content with that. Oneshot.


**Heritage**

Eh, this is the result of my boredness and homework procrastination.. I haven't really proofread it (I blame it on the incredible lazyness) so there might be a few mistakes.. Reviews are nice, but please no flames : Pretty Please C:

Money, religion, wisdom, love, fame.

Each of things has often been described as the definition of life. I have known most of my life that anyone who believes such things is wrong. Heritage, the passing of attributes and possessions from one generation to the next, is the meaning of life.

Some stockpile money, all in the hopes of becoming wealthy, but in the end, material possessions will all be inherited by future generations. Even the richest man will succumb to death, and even the most decorated casket becomes nothing more than a box in the ground.

Some devote their lives to religion, to spreading their beliefs and converting others. Such things are done in the hopes of keeping their religions alive in the hearts and mindsets of generations to come. Morals and traditions are instilled in the believers' children and grandchildren, and ethics are passed down through the descendants.

Some spend their life committed to acquiring knowledge. Wisdom, however, is of no value when kept to oneself. The only way knowledge can be sustained and passed on from year to year, is if it is inherited by future generations. Afterall, a candle is useless when hidden.

Some indulge in the pleasures of love, allowing their lives to entwine with another. Love is defined as "a feeling of warm personal attatchment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend." Without heritage, however, there would be no such people to love. Love most often results in children, children result in heritage, heritage results in love. Such terms go hand in hand.

Some commit their lives to climbing the ladder of success, awaiting their time to shine, their five minutes of fame. Success lasts only so long, however. It is desired, though, in the hopes of creating "a name" for oneself. Fame is passed through the generations. Some inherit it, some achieve it. The daughter of the Queen differs greatly from the daughter of the pauper... Though in my case, maybe not so much.

In my life, I have aquired each of these aspects of life, but in the end, heritage and love were the only bearings that remained.

-----

The first time I realized I had passed each of these traits to my children was upon their return from Digory's mansion. The four of them had changed drastically.

Peter was always mature for his age, even before the war. When his father was drafted, however, I saw him forced into a responsibility much too great for his mere fourteen years. Though for different reasons, neither Edmund nor I wished to see Peter replace his father's role. I was forced to send them away to Digory's for their own safety, however, and I knew that in my absence Peter would be thrust into a harsh role: the family's protector. I was never prepared for the changes that occurred, however. When he returned, I realized he had not only grown, but become a man. It appeared as if I had missed those "awkward years" of transition, for I wasn't looking at my boy just entering manhood, but a man already wisened with experience. He had become more like his father than I had expected, bearing an almost.. kingly quality. I harbored suspicions, but spoke not a word.

Susan had always been the polite, proper young lady that I had raised her to be. She loved nothing more than the sewing lessons that I gave her when I had the time. She always had her nose in the books, and I often dreamed of her one day becoming a doctor. However, when she returned from the countryside, it seemed almost as if her whole perspective on life had changed. She was suddenly exceptionally good at sewing, claiming that she had learned at "the professor's" (a name I often chuckled at when they referred to Digory in such a way). Pretty barettes and shoes had replaced books, and she would often stay out late at parties at the town hall. She distanced herself from the family, much to the despair of both her siblings and I, and I wondered what had caused such a change in her demeanor. Though confused, my suspicions arose, but again I didn't speak out.

When I had last seen him, Edmund was distant, unreachable even by his older brother, who had once shared a close bond with Ed. I remember he had even refused to say goodbye to me, his childish stubborness prominent. When he returned, however, I was met with a maturity in him I had not expected, and with a wisdom much too great for a boy of twelve years. I knew something had changed within him, and I had my suspicions, but said nothing.

Lucy had always been a bundle of happiness, even since the very day she was born. Even in the face of so much change and despair, she never failed to find a way to make me smile. I always believed her childish innocence was her most valuable virtue. When returning from Digory's mansion, she was still the same bubbly, cheerful Lucy that I knew, but her innocence was all but gone. There was a knowing independence in her eyes that was uncommon of an eight year old. Again, I had my suspicions, but said nothing.

Said suspicions were confirmed, however, when their careful secrecy was thwarted by two simple words.

Peter, Edmund, and Lucy had been listening to war news on the radio while I was standing in the doorway to the den drying a dish when Lucy muttered at one particularly brutal attack, "By Aslan." His name surfaced so many memories and instilled so many feelings that I dropped my dish, the cheap china shattering on the floors. The expressions on my three childrens' faces were one in the same, each manifesting shock, confusion, and guilt. Peter tried to draw my mind away from the situation, immediately jumping up to begin cleaning the shattered mess. "Have to watch those slippery dishes, Mum," he said, smiling weakly.

He was my son, though. I could see that he was hiding something, and I knew just what it was. I had experienced it, though long ago. More than anything I wanted to embrace him, to share the stories I have long kept hidden, to recall the most wondrous times of my life.

With a weak smile, "Clumsy me," was all I said.

Said stories were what made me and my husband grow closer, and I knew that delicious secrets of events passed were what was needed to make my children grow closer with eachother. It was their experience, their life, their Narnia.

And I was content with that.

After cleaning up the broken dish and sending my children to get ready for bed, I sat down at the desk and pulled out a piece of paper, knowing that my husband would like to hear of how his sons and daughters had carried on our heritage. Afterall, it felt good to know that Narnia had seen the descendants of King Frank and Queen Helen.


End file.
